


Sleepover

by yes_but_am_i_a_pretty_lady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yes_but_am_i_a_pretty_lady/pseuds/yes_but_am_i_a_pretty_lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Holmes boys have decided to have two very special friends over for a sleepover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i LOVE this fic and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise!  
> oh but the title needs to be changed  
> so this is my teenlock one. yes i am writing two different era sherlock fics at the same time, and i shall post an adult era fic or two at some point as well.  
> enjoy, as i have enjoyed writing it!  
> thanks to devisama/cakeofficialmycroft for the beta of this one, http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devisama and http://cakeofficialmycroft.tumblr.com/!
> 
> fic recs/ comments/ requests for headcanons/ questions/ suggestions = comment below or shoot me a message at http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/!

“Ah, Mum?”

  
“Yes, Sherlock, dear?”

  
“Do you think I could have a sleepover on Friday?”

 

Mrs.Holmes looked up. Sherlock never mentioned having a social life, much less ever asking for sleepovers. She peered at him from over the top of her novel, not daring to hope he had a friend.

  
“Who would be invited?”

  
The boy flushed red, gulping a little- a fact that did not go unnoticed by his mother. “Ahm, John. Watson. He’s on the rugby team, and he’s in my English and Social Sciences classes, and…” His voice trailed off, not wanting to reveal too much. Unfortunately for him, it was quite obvious that he was uncomfortable with either talking with Mrs.Holmes or just with the topic of this mysterious John Watson, who apparently had the ability to render her youngest son dumb. Mrs.Holmes nodded approvingly.

  
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Mycroft’s having a guest over as well, but I’m sure I can manage four boys. Just stay out of the dining room; father’s having guests too. Friday’ll be busy,” she continued. “Yes, you can have your friend over.”

  
Sherlock smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Mum! We’ll keep out of your way. No worries.” He backed out of the study, smiled hugely to himself in the hallway and bumped straight into Mycroft.

  
“What are you so pleased about?” Mycroft asked suspiciously. Sherlock’s smile quickly faded and was replaced with a look of subtly masked distaste, as if he was looking at gum on the bottom of his shoe.

  
“Nothing, Mycroft,” he said flippantly. “I’m having a guest over on Friday.”

  
“You and the rest of the Holmes household,” Mycroft muttered. “Well then, who is it?”

  
Sherlock curled his upper lip. “I’m having John Watson over- but you probably don’t know him,” he said disdainfully.

  
Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up, taken aback. He, in fact,  _did_ know of John Watson. Mycroft spent every moment he could watching rugby practice to support his- well- his almost boyfriend, Greg Lestrade. They had been secretly going out for months, and not so secretly snogging in the locker rooms. The team was fine with it; they joked about Mycroft being their cheerleader. However, the Holmes family was a different story. It was like politics- be polite to everyone but work for your own personal gain. Sherlock couldn’t keep a secret for 3 minutes and Mycroft would be practically disowned if his parents found out. Dating, for one. Two, a commoner. Three, a boy. They’d dissolve him.

 

But he knew John Watson. Youngest player on the team, always cheerful, always a grin when he tackled. He was a little bit more on the chubby side, but robustness helped in rugby. He was a cute little sandy haired boy. Now that Mycroft thought about it, he realised that John was in Sherlock’s grade.

  
“Interesting.” Sherlock’s eyes flicked to Mycroft’s face and then away again. “Friends with him, then?”

  
“John Watson has come as close as you possibly can to friendship with me.” Sherlock was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. “He’s… not unpleasant to be around.”

  
Mycroft smiled reptilian-like at his younger brother. “Well. I’m having Greg Lestrade over, one of John’s… mates, from the rugby team.”

  
Sherlock nodded curtly. “We’ll, ah, we’ll be busy. So don’t bother us.”

  
“I would never dream of it.”

  
Sherlock drew himself up as tall as he could and sauntered down the hallway. Mycroft smiled a small and knowing smile after his brother, then proceeded to his own room.

 

\-----

 

Mycroft strolled confidently into his room and sat at his desk. He took out his mobile and dialled Greg Lestrade’s number.

  
“Hey, it’s Greg.” Mycroft smiled at his voice.

  
“Is Friday still good for a sleepover?” he asked innocently, knowing the answer.

  
Greg Lestrade grinned. “Absolutely! This is gonna be awesome!” Greg said excitedly. “Should I- uh, bring. Y’know. Supplies?”

  
Mycroft turned crimson and gulped. “Yes. Please.”

  
There was a long pause. “Are you sure, Mycroft? I mean, you only get one shot.” Greg’s voice was nervous.

 

“Greg.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have I ever not been sure about you?”

 

Another long pause. “...No. But I mean, that’s not-”

  
“I’m sure, Greg. I’m sure.”

  
Greg nodded. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  
Mycroft sighed, exasperated. “Yes, Greg, I’m sure! It’s a yes from me, I PROMISE it’s consensual. I’m sure.”

  
Greg chuckled. “Okay. Got it. Supplies shall be brought.”

  
Mycroft smiled. “Oh, by the way, Sherlock’s having someone over as well,” he remembered.

  
“Really? The little gremlin has found a friend? Who is it?” Greg sounded very surprised.

  
“John Watson- and something tells me he’s more than a friend.”

  
“From the rugby team? Huh. I guess rugby and riches go well together,” Greg teased.

  
Mycroft laughed. “Oh hush, you. We’re hardly rich.”

  
“Compared to me.”

  
“Do shut up now.”

  
Greg giggled. “Alright. Friday then?”

  
“Friday,” Mycroft confirmed.

  
“See you then.”

  
“See you,” Mycroft replied, and hung up. He tilted his head back and wondered when he started to become so infatuated with this wonderful person named Greg Lestrade. 

 

\-----  


 

As soon as he got to his room, Sherlock whipped out his mobile. ‘Sleepover’s on. -SH’, he quickly typed out. Selecting John Watson as the recipient, he pressed send.  
‘Great!’ he got back, an almost immediate reply. He grinned at the screen, leaning against the door. _‘Oh, my god,’_ he thought. His heart was pounding fast, far too fast. He took a deep breath in, hardly containing his happiness. He sat down on his bed and looked at the sleeping form of Redbeard, a great ginger hound, a really gorgeous creature.

  
“D’you hear that, Redbeard?” He smiled. “We’re having _John Watson_ over.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Greg! You comin’ to Julie’s party?” called Rory.

 

“No, I’ve got plans. Thanks though.”

 

“John?” he teased. Since he was the youngest on the team, John would often be left out of any parties that involved girls or booze.

 

John groaned. Constantly being the center of these jokes could would get a bit tiring. “Lucky for your arse, I’m busy tonight too.” Rory stuck his tongue out cheekily and went off. Greg started walking towards the car park where Mycroft said there’d be a car waiting for him. John jogged to catch up with him. “Good practice today,” he said.

 

Greg smiled. “Yeah. We’ll get ‘em next time, John, I know it.” Even with their few years of age difference, it was surprisingly easy to talk to one other.

 

John grinned back at him and gave a playful nudge. "Ha, right! So where are you off to now?”

 

“Over to my boyfriend’s.” He quickly glanced to John’s face, not sure what the reaction would be. John’s face stayed impassive. He nodded. “Where are you off to?”

 

“A friend’s for a sleepover. Sherlock Holmes, if you know him.”

 

“Oh! That’s right, Mycroft mentioned that Sherlock was having a friend over.”

 

John raised his eyebrows in realisation. “Mycroft? Holmes?”

 

Greg looked over at John. “Yeah, that’s my boyfriend.”

 

John stared open mouthed at him. “The prefect who spends all his time in the library?” Greg nodded, grinning. “You know what everyone calls him, right? Jim- not that I believe anything he says- but he calls Mycroft ‘the ice man’.”

 

Greg’s eyes sparkled. “I know.”

 

“And that doesn’t bother you?” They had reached the car park. They stood next to a bike rack for a moment. Greg itched for a cigarette, but he didn’t wish for one so badly when he was around Mycroft.

 

“Not in the slightest,” Greg answered as a sleek black car pulled up. John’s mouth opened in shock for the second time in 5 minutes.

 

“Is that a Porsche?” he asked, to no one in particular.

 

Greg chuckled. "Yeah.” He got in and started casually chatting with the driver.

 

John followed Greg in, sitting on the posh leather seats and looking around. He blinked in amazement at the sleekness of the vehicle.“I- woah. This is… wow.”

 

Greg nodded. "Yeah,” he said again. He peered at John and cocked his head. “Never knew you were into cars, mate.”

 

“I’m not,” John replied. “But I can certainly appreciate _this_.” Greg chuckled.

 

They began to move away from the public school - which Greg and John, both belonging to middle class families, were very fortunate to be able to attend thanks to their grades. They loved the school and its inhabitants consisting of stuck up nerds, cheeky rugby players as well as the few troublemakers like Seb Moran who operated under Jim Moriarty. Jim was another breed of bully using rumors and secrets to blackmail to get what he wants by any means. Teachers were in no way immune to this treatment. If it came down to "getting his hands dirty", Seb was there to do the dirty work.

 

Thankfully, John was looked at as the little kid being from year 9 and all fourteen boys from the rugby team saw it to be their duty to be his overprotective and prying brothers. It did make for a nice change from home, where his mother constantly worked and was never there; and his sister who was there but always it seemed with an empty bottle of whatever booze she managed to score. In comparison, being teased about parties the team never allowed him to go to was tolerable. Even when Rory would ask about who he was dating, he would shake his head and smile. It wasn't as if there were a lack of girls John could date but he needed to keep his head clear and stay afloat in his classes so dating never really occurred to him.

 

John’s mouth dropped open when the house came into view as the car approached along the driveway. House wasn’t the word for it, really. Mansion, maybe palace even. It was as if it were lifted from a fairy tale a grand place made of gray stones with brown tiles lining the roof. The various trimmed plants surrounding it only served to make the house more majestic. They were more in the country now, this being the only house dotting the landscape.

 

“This is where we’re having a sleepover.” John said it as if it were a fact.

 

Greg grinned. “Yeah.”

 

“Here.”

 

Greg looked over at him, a half smile playing at his lips. He nodded.

 

“In this castle.”

 

Greg laughed. “It’s hardly a castle, John.”

 

John scoffed. “Yes it is.”

 

The sleek black car pulled up beside the front step. “We’re here, sirs,” the driver announced. Greg shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He’d never get used to the formalities of the Holmes’. Greg hadn’t even properly been introduced to the Mr. and Mrs. of the house. When he first came over for tutoring, Mycroft had dragged him through the sitting room, presenting him as “my tutee Greg Lestrade, we’ll be in the library, don’t bother us.” He chuckled a bit at that memory. They had shared their first kiss in that very same library, with Mycroft blushing down to the roots of his ginger hair and Greg absolutely loving it. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other since.

 

He shook his head, clearing his mind of a few of those memorable moments and exited the car after John, who was currently ogling at the huge oak door. He walked up to the door, put his finger over the bell, and hesitated. _‘Am I really ready for this? Is Mycroft?’_ he thought to himself. _‘One way to find out, I guess.’_ He took a deep breath and rung the bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really should as myc as a co-author of this chapter because it was a HOT MESS when i handed it over for a beta. oof. in all seriousness, thank GOD for my luv myc cakeofficialmycroft/Devisama because this chapter would sincerely suck without her. i owe her BIG time, so go check her out here and here>> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devisama and http://cakeofficialmycroft.tumblr.com/ so i can start to compensate for my terrible writing. i am so sorry for the terrible mangling of words, myc, i truly am.
> 
> as usual, fic recs/ comments/ requests for headcanons/ questions/ suggestions = comment below or shoot me a message at http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/!


	3. Chapter 3

The bell rung throughout the Holmes residence. Mycroft, in his room, tidying up, smiled and straightened his shirt. He walked casually down to the front door. Sherlock, on the other hand, heard the bell and sucked in a quick breath. He flashed a quick smile at Redbeard and ran down after his brother. Redbeard barked and scrambled after Sherlock.

 

“John, Greg, please come in,” Mycroft said, as smooth as whiskey pouring into a glass. Sherlock came sliding down the banister moments after, landing cat-like on his feet. Redbeard came bounding down the stairs after him and immediately went up to John and started sniffing him. John laughed. Greg knelt on the floor and started patting the dog fondly.

 

John asked, “who’s this?” He scratched Redbeard behind his ears, which the hound seemed to like very much.

 

“That’s Redbeard,” Sherlock answered shyly. “After the pirate captain.”

 

“Great big dog, such a sweetie,” Greg murmured to Redbeard, scratching under his chin. Redbeard rolled over onto his back with legs in the air, obviously enjoying the abundant attention he was receiving. John bent his face over and let himself be licked by the dog’s pink tongue.

 

He giggled a little as Redbeard licked his ears and nose. “That tickles,” he protested. John looked up at Sherlock with a lopsided grin. “Hey,” he said, wiping saliva off of his cheek.

 

Sherlock blushed a bit and smiled. “Hi,” he replied shyly.

 

“Where should I put my things?” John asked, still rubbing Redbeard’s belly.

 

“Oh, follow me,” he replied. “I- If you don’t mind,” he added hastily. He waited for John to get up, then went back up the stairs with both John and Redbeard at his heels.

 

“I assume I’ll be sleeping in your room,” Greg said cheekily after the younger boys had gone upstairs.

 

“I believe you will be,” Mycroft purred, pulling in Greg for a kiss. His smooth lips pressed against Greg’s chapped ones, and he smiled into the kiss and hugged him close. They went up to Mycroft’s room. Greg set his bag on the floor and looked around the room. He ran his fingers along the spines of Mycroft’s books, looked at the political maps and timelines neatly arranged on his walls. Greg smiled at the organisation of it, _‘almost OCD,’_ he thought. Mycroft sat on his bed and watched Greg walk around the tidy room.

 

Greg turned to Mycroft. “You’re brilliant, y’know that?” Mycroft smiled a bit bashfully. Greg sat down beside him and put his arm around his shoulders. “I see what you mean about Sherlock and John being a bit more than friends. Your little gremlin turns into a positive angel when he’s around John.”

 

Mycroft snorted. “He’ll never act on it unless John does first. I could see it happening, if he was somehow… encouraged,” he said slyly, glancing at Greg out of the corner of his eye.

 

“What d’you say we encourage him, then? A little nudging. It’d be cuter than Sherlock dying of embarrassment.”

 

“I think I’d be in trouble if Sherlock died at all, of humiliation or not.”

 

Greg snorted. “So. Shall we go inspire John and prevent Sherlock’s death?”

  
Mycroft smiled somewhere between evilly and fondly. “Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaaaay its up! i know i've been super repetative lately BUT just a reminder that there will be a cycle, starting with Engaged "For A Case", then Sleepover, then AKATD. there isnt a particular day, but there will be an announcement on my tumblr.  
> i frickin love this chapter, it was given a brief look over by my dear Devisama, thank you for that.
> 
> as per the usual- fic recs/ comments/ requests for headcanons/ questions/ suggestions = comment below or shoot me a message at http://dr-john-im-not-gay-watson.tumblr.com/!


	4. Chapter 4

In the mean time, Sherlock was leading John up to his room.

 

“I’m not kidding, you live in a bloody castle,” John said sounding astounded while looking at the various impressive decorations that adorned the walls.

 

Sherlock stammered, "well, technically, castles are walled palaces with strong defence systems, so I think we live in more of a mansion than a castle.”

 

“You know what I meant, you git,” John replied offhandedly. Sherlock gulped. He hadn’t been _that_ big of an idiot, had he? He glanced at John and flushed when he saw that John was looking at him with a lopsided grin. Sherlock ducked his head down and ran a hand through his dark curls. _‘Oh my god. This is the single most embarrassing and exciting thing I have ever done in my entire existence.’_ Sherlock had not expected a positive reaction to a sleepover request, which is a ridiculous notion. John wouldn’t turn down anyone, especially not Sherlock. They were quite good friends, they helped each other with homework, and John stood up to all Sherlock’s bullies. Perhaps this thinking was Sherlock’s completely self conscious side showing through- on one side, a picture of confidence and cold calculation; on the other, a sensitive, awkward, gangly boy with one friend and too much free time. It was like the flip of a coin.

 

Sherlock motioned towards a dark oak door on their right. “This one,” he said softly. He opened the door and let John go ahead of him.

 

Upon entering, John breathed out a “wow,” and rightly so. An impressive lab was set up with two microscopes, multiple beakers, and a couple of bunsen burners. Sherlock immediately set to fiddling with those, turning the heat lower or higher and stirring the beakers set on top of them, which were filled with liquids of a dubious nature.

 

Sherlock clucked his tongue and stirred one of the beakers very carefully. It was filled with some vile greenish-yellow liquid, and there were chunks of… something resting on the bottom. “Um,” John queried, “what’s that?”

 

Sherlock waved his hand. “An experiment looking at the corrosiveness of different acids on flesh, which isn’t going nearly as well as I wanted it to,” Sherlock replied, sighing. He was lost in the experiment, which seemed to help with his nervousness around John quite a bit.

 

John raised his eyebrows. “Flesh?”

 

Sherlock paused. “Well, steak chunks. If only it was human flesh, then I could get some real work done,” he quietly mused. A second later, he realised what he had said and looked up at John with wide, afraid eyes.

 

John met his eyes and let out a snort. Then he burst out laughing. Sherlock let out a tentative chuckle and gave him small grin. “You’re a mad genius,” he finally choked out. “Totally bonkers, but brilliant.”

 

Sherlock’s smile widened. “Believe it or not, I’ve heard that before, or at least the mad part.” This sent John into another fit of giggles and Sherlock joined in hesitantly.

 

Redbeard, not having received any attention since his entrance downstairs, barked at the pair and padded over to John, nudging at his leg with his snout.

 

“Hey you,” John said as he squatted down to pet him. Sherlock looked on with a shy smile. It was really sweet how fond Redbeard was of John. Well. Sweet until Redbeard lunged towards John’s face for a lick, and John stumbled into the table, and the acidic steak chunks spilled onto the carpet. Then it was not sweet. In fact, the smell was so repugnant that both boys had to hold their shirts over their noses.

 

John shuffled out of the room and beckoned the great hound sniffing eagerly at the steak chunks. “Shit, oh shit, oh shit,” John muttered. “Shit. Okay, Redbeard! C’mere boy!” John called from the hallway, his voice muffled by his shirt. Redbeard looked towards him with interest and then trotted out of the room, completely unaware of the havoc he caused.

 

Sherlock was throwing open all the windows, shirtsleeves hurriedly pushed up to his elbows and focus etched on his face. He leaped over the ruined experiment and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned back and let out a tense breath.

 

John hung his head and slumped his shoulders. “Sherlock, I’m really sorry. If you want me to go, then I can just call my mum and…”

 

“Are you kidding?” John’s head snapped up. Sherlock grinned. “That had to be the most exciting thing happening in my lab all month.” A slow smile spread over John’s face. “The experiment was going downhill anyways. Too many variables,” Sherlock said with an air of finality.

 

John grinned. “I guess we’re not sleeping in there?”

 

Sherlock thought for a moment. “No, I suppose not. We do have a rather comfortable den with pull out couches. That’ll have to do,” he mused, his hair ruffled and his pants stained with dots of acidic waste. “So, dinner?” he asked after a comfortable pause.

 

John looked up into Sherlock’s face, beaming with expectation. “Starving.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK I LOVE THIS CHAPTER  
> i am totally allowed to say that about my own work. shut up.  
> thanks to myc for the britpick/beta, as usual. ((sorry i changed a few things im sorry (ノдヽ)))  
> oh and next chapter there's truth or dare. so there's that to look forward to.


End file.
